A/N: This will not be a story with a big plot. In this one, my focus is in the details of their feelings, their memories and trying to get past the hard ones. I'd like you to almost be there with them, don't know if I manage that.

Someone asked if there will be Charles' perspective too, but I have decided this is Molly's story. We get an idea of what he feels through her eyes, but you can also assume that everything he says is honest. This is not a story of deceit.

As always, thanks for all your lovely reviews. It warms my heart that so many seemed to enjoy the first chapters even if very sad. As with the previous ones, I recommend the song with the read.

Chapter 3: Trust

You're keeping me awake at night

I'm losing all my appetite

My heart is beating out of time

My skin is cold, my chest is tight

You're keeping me awake at night

And I don't want you all inside my head

And I can feel you running through my veins

When I say, and I say, and I say

That "I don't want you in my life"

But you stay, and you stay, and you stay

And you never leave my side

Charlotte Lawrence – Keep me up

After the day in the park, I'm an emotional wreck. I'm not sure if I should contact Charles again or not, and it takes a few weeks before I make up my mind. It may not seem so long, but one is able to think and process a whole lot over fourteen days and nights, when one does not think about much else than one topic. One man. I get dressed, try to eat even if my appetite in not much to boast about, I go to work, see people and manage to do what I should, but my mind is constantly on the conversation we had had in the park and our past. I want to be with him again, it is what I always have wanted, but now when the possibility is there it scares me. If we would try and fuck up again, then it is truly the end. I thought so the other time too, but I do not know if I can bear it a second.

I lie awake at night, cannot stop thinking about him. It is like he is not only inside my head, but like my entire body is filled with him. Like he both occupies my thoughts and is running through my veins without my permission. I'm telling him to leave me alone, to let me settle without him, let me forget him even if I know I have not been very successful over the last years, but he will not leave me. He stays, like a heat in my blood, a whisper in my ear telling me that he will not go away until I see him again. Until I at least try this out to see what it may be, if only friendship.

I replay everything we talked about and I know that I believe him, believe that he was one hundred percent honest with me about how things played out and why it happened like it did. I know I will never forget, neither will he. The question is – can I forgive him and move past it? Do I have forgiveness like that in me? Can I even move past my own failures in it all? Truth is, I do not know. A long time ago another boyfriend betrayed me with a friend of mine, cheated on me in a dirty toilet cubicle in a nightclub. It does not really get any cheaper than that. I just left them behind, hardly bothered to face them with it, let alone hear them try to make pathetic excuses. What Charles and Georgie did was far worse because they meant more to me, but circumstances were very different and because I love him he is also so much more difficult to leave behind.

My psychiatrist, Margaret, once told me of two different schools in psychology, one which believes that an individual's personality determines his behaviour, one which believes that circumstances influence behaviour more than anything else. She mentioned it at the end of a session and asked me to think about that until the next time we met. I did, a lot and I do now too. Somehow, I always land in the conclusion that I believe in a mix. Some people are just rotten and will always be, and I guess there might be a very limited number who always are good and do the right thing, but as for us normal poor sods I guess our personality will determine part of what we do and circumstances the rest. If I had stayed in Newham, I would never had found myself in circumstances that made me risk my life for another in a such a courageous way that people thought me worthy of the Military Cross. The other way around, if Charles had not witnessed his best friend die and blamed himself for it, if he had not gone on a tour when he obviously suffered from PTSD in the company of the equally fragged Georgie, he probably would not have cheated. It does not fully excuse it, but it explains it. Is it enough for me? I realise I probably never will know if I do not see more of him, but is it worth the risk of breaking my heart again? Such thoughts keep me up at night.

Finally, I give in and decide to call him. I'm nervous and still unsure if it is the right choice but when he answers and realise it is me, I can hear a huge smile in his voice and I feel the same smile over my own face. Oh, I'm missing him, it does not matter that I tell myself not to.

We start seeing each other. Not dating really, because there is nearly no physical contact. No holding hands, no wrapping an arm around the other's shoulder or waist, no kissing. It is more like when we first got to know each other back at the base in Afghan, minus the Taliban, 2 section, him being my CO and Army regulations dictating what we could do or not. Also, he is less confident and I'm warier, but still there is a resemblance in the platonic relationship we slowly are establishing. Now, with no one around dictating we must wait out it is us setting the pace on our own, reacquainting ourselves with each other through serious talks and easy banter. As we keep seeing each other, we relax gradually and there is more and more of the latter, less of the hard conversations as we get past them. I'm not sure which has the most healing effect; serious, honest exploration of the past or the banter. Maybe the combination.

We start off cautiously, but the more we are at ease, the more often we see each other as late spring transforms into summer. Our first meet up after the park is sharing a simple coffee (him) and tea (me, naturally) together, next we go for a stroll, followed by lunch the time after and eventually we start spending whole days together. We do not really plan it, it is just that when we meet we are both unwilling to let it end – but it always does because we do not spend any nights together and I have so far not invited him to my flat. Somehow, that feels too intimate, like really letting him into my life again. We do this one tiny step at a time, not rushing with the risk to ruin everything. He lets me set the pace but at the same time shows me he is with me.

I try not to shy away from the difficult conversations as they come to mind, because I know we will not get anywhere if we try to gloss things over. One weekend when we are having lunch, I ask him about her.

"What happened with Georgie, afterwards?"

My heart is pounding, palms sweaty. I do not want to know, but I need to know. For a long time, I thought I did not, but now I know I need to know that nothing remains in the dark when it comes to her.

He looks like he expected the question to come one day, yet uneasy and he takes a gulp of water before answering.

"We sort of endured the remainder of the tour in each other's company. It was only a few weeks left and we did our best to avoid each other. It was all very awkward. It would have been even if the others hadn't known, now it was hell and both me and her kept to ourselves as much as we could. Not together though, I mean alone."

Even if this is hard to hear, I smile weakly at that he felt the need to clarify that and it does make me feel slightly better.

"You already know what happened with me when we returned, and she was never part of my life after that. We never talked about what happened, not on tour, not after. Neither of us could bring ourselves to be in the same room alone again. I guess we despised both ourselves and each other too much."

My relief is palpable. I have always wondered how much they saw of each other, if he kept wanting her, if he loved her for real. Even if he told me much in the park, I needed this confirmation too. He continues.

"As her CO, I know that she requested transfer to another section, another regiment. Even if I did not stay with 2 section, she couldn't either. Beck once thought it his duty to inform me she had stayed in, done well and been promoted – apparently also moved on and was seeing some bloke outside the army. I could read between the lines she had needed counselling to get there too."

"Does he know about Bangladesh?"

I had never asked before, maybe because I dreaded the thought that the man who had held a most beautiful speech to us on our wedding day, would know exactly how much shit our marriage had turned to.

"Yeah…". He looks at me, rueful. "If he hadn't heard the rumours already before, I told him when he came to the house to get me when I was wasted. Told him just what kind of despicable person I was and that it was better if he just left me to my misery, but for some reason he would not have that. He was kind enough to turn a blind eye to the serious breach of regulations due to the circumstances… but later he said that even if he knew it was down to the PTSD he thought I was a bloody fool for throwing away what you and I had. Of course, I knew that by then, but I thought it was too late to do anything to reverse it."

Too late to reverse, but maybe not too late to move forward, I'm thinking to myself, looking at my apple juice, swirling it around in the glass. I shift to push around some crisps on my plate, suddenly have lost appetite at the reminder of them, but for the first time I also feel something else, something I never thought was possible.

"I feel sorry for her."

He looks equally surprised at that I'm able to feel that.

"You are?"

"I've hated her for such a long time. She was my mate and friendship rule no. 1 is to stay away from your mate's man no matter how long has passed since they were together. She didn't wait for us to even take off the wedding rings, but I can see now that she was ill too. She had lost her love, you were her only bond to him and when she tried to find some consolation, she alienated herself from you both as friend and CO, from the section, from me for sure… became an outcast. Once I thought she just got what she bargained for, but now I can see that she acted out of desperation, like you. I still hate her, but I feel sorry for her too. It's a relief really because pure hatred is really fucking tiresome."

He keeps his gaze fixed at me, serious and apprehensive.

"And do you still hate me too?"

"I hate what you did… but I don't hate you."

He swallows before speaking again.

"Do you ever think we can get past it?"

"I don't know", I say honestly, feeling a bit like crying. "I just know I want to try."

Then he gives me the loveliest smile and puts his hand down flat on the table, palm up, an offer for me to take it. I put my hand in his and we lace our fingers together, touching each other like the very first time we touched one another in a way that was out of limits for a commander and a soldier in his charge. We both look at the hands, what our fingers are doing, like they were living a life of their own out of our control. His thumb caressing over my knuckles. When I look up in his face again, his lips are slightly parted and eyes gooey like they were that time. That time he shocked me because I had never seen him like that, it had been unthinkable he would look at me like that, touch me like that. Now, it is almost equally earth shattering because I never ever thought we would touch each other like that again, or that he would give me that look that disappeared so long before the rest of him did.

"That's all we can do, isn't it? And I'm just so glad if you're willing to. I'm not completely convinced I have earned a second chance, but I can promise you I won't waste it. I'm here Molly and I intend to stay for as long as you'll have me even if only as a friend."

He truly is here. In a way, I feel he is here like he never was before, not even when our relationship was at its peak the other time. Even when I knew he loved me, he was always on his way somewhere. Headed for tour, exercise, promotion, rehabilitation so he could back to work and all started over again. Even if he wanted me in addition to living out of a Bergan, which he said had been he all he ever wanted before meeting me, he still wanted that. I never dared to ask myself or him the question; if he had to choose between the two, would the choice have been me? In the end it was not, but then so much was already shit anyway. Now he makes me feel, without a shadow of a doubt, that he would chose me. Am I ready for that?

Some days when we say good bye and he heads for his car or I jump on the train, I feel so desperately much for him, that I just want to turn around and run after him, throw myself into his arms and kiss him. But I don't. Other days, or sometimes later the same day as I have resisted the urge to throw myself at him, I'm furious. Mad with him for what he threw away, resentful of what he did to me, livid that I'm putting myself through this, reliving the pain, uncertainty, raging at the risk it puts me of breaking my heart again.

Nobody can say the path is easy to finding a common ground again, it is rocky and treacherous. We take two steps forward, one backward, sometimes the other way around so I feel I'm back to square one and doubting if I ever want to see him again – but then next day, I know I want to, I have to. He has said he is here to stay and then I cannot let go.

A few weeks later, he asks if I want to meet Sam.

My heart flutters with joy but I'm also mindful of Sam's feelings. Do not ever want to risk him getting caught between us and hurt again.

"You don't think it's too early? I mean, we don't know for sure where this is going yet, do we?"

The look he gives me, tells me that he knows exactly where he hopes this is going, but he still does not take it for granted and holds back saying it out loud. He rakes his long fingers through his dark curls, the way he always does when he needs a few extra seconds to ponder his response.

"I've thought about it - and I think not. I know he would love to see you, like me he never stopped missing you. We can tell him the truth, that we're only friends. If you at some point decide you don't want to see me anymore…"

He pauses, and his face tells me he hopes I will never tell him that.

"If you don't want to see me anymore, there's really nothing stopping the two of you from staying in touch. He's old enough for that now and I don't want to keep you apart."

Even if I feel a bit like Sam is a bait and I should wait until I'm surer about me and Charles, the temptation is too big. It is hard to resist seeing the boy I love and actually, I do trust that Charles would always see to his best, so I say yes.

When I go to Bath next weekend, they both come to pick me up at the train station. Even if Charles had not been with him I would have recognized Sam immediately, alike both his three year younger self and Charles. It hurts to see the physical proof that I had missed three years of his life; how tall he is, how his features are less child more man, his voice roller coasting due to puberty. I hold back a smirk spotting a few hairs on his upper lip which I'm sure he is so proud of that he has left them there on purpose. It heals to see he looks so well and so extremely happy to see me. In a few long strides he is with me, this manboy, now taller than me and we hug hard for long, without saying anything. So many emotions going through me, tears burning at the back of my eyelids and I do not want to let them out and ruin this moment which is supposed to be happy. I see Charles next to us, meeting my gaze but then turning away with a look like he too is struggling not to cry. His arms crossed over his body, tucked in his armpits in the familiar pose I once found intimidating, then realised was one he also used when he wanted to protect himself by creating some distance. Not get emotionally involved.

"It's so good to see you Molly."

The same words his dad had said in the park, but to Sam I can answer without hesitation;

"It's bloody fantastic to see you, but I think your dad needs to buy you some Gillette."

He looks confused and I see Charles smile at the corner of my eye. One emotional land mine averted without anyone being red-misted.

A sunny day in Bath, the three of us. We do not do anything special, but it is an amazing day anyway. We walk around in the city centre as if we all were tourists, not two of us living here and one been here many times before. Sam even goes into the tourist office for some leaflets of the most noteworthy sights. Of course, Royal Crescent where Charles parents still live, is mentioned, but there we do not go. Charles and me silently agreeing that seeing them would be taking things too far at this stage. We stroll, we eat ice cream, enjoy a long lunch and we talk and talk and talk and laugh a lot. Initially, Charles stays a bit in the background and let me and Sam do the talking, allowing us to reconnect, but unlike with him there are no barriers, no bitterness or hurt in our way so it is a matter of minutes before it feels like we never have been apart. He is older yes, but he is the same – and with him I'm the same as I used to be.

In the afternoon we sit on a bench, Charles and me. We find ourselves in another park and Sam has temporarily been distracted by some girls from school we ran into. After introducing ourselves we found it best to leave him alone and now we sit here in companionable silence. I think I catch Charles secretly admiring my tanned legs where they peep out from underneath my floral print summer dress and that thought sends a surge through my body, but when I turn and look at him full on he actually looks sad.

"Are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because I know you and you look like a dying duck in a thunderstorm."

He cannot withhold a small smile but then the sadness is there again.

"You're right. Seeing the two of you today reminds me what a clusterfuck I made of everything."

"But we're having such a great time?"

"Exactly. I never should have allowed the two of you to split up. Seeing you together reminds me again how wrong I was about everything. How much pain I have caused."

His voice is choking, and I take his hand.

"No point crying over spilt milk, you know."

"I know."

I lean my head to his shoulder. I feel him hesitantly put his arm around my shoulder, holding me to him. We have not touched this much since the day in the park. It feels… sublime.

"We can make new memories." I say and right now I mean it.

He hums something, which I interpret like him agreeing but being too moved to say anything. We just sit like that until Sam returns from his admirers and we move apart. He looks suspiciously at us. It is possible that our eyes are tearful.

"What are you talking about?"

"You", says Charles.

"That those girls clearly have a crush on you", I giggle.

"What? Noooo!" His cheeks are turning adorably pink.

We cheerfully continue the afternoon in each other's company and finally walk to their house, where Charles has promised to cook us dinner. Just like he has not been to my place yet, I have not been to theirs and I'm expectant and nervous as I enter. I know that Charles is watching my face as we walk through the rooms. It is a light, beautiful house, clearly lacking the touch of a woman and of course I'm glad and relieved for that. There are no signs of me, that I once was part of the family. No photos, none of the things I left behind and even if I did not expect it, it hurts. Ridiculous. Just like my home holds nothing of him except some stashed away photos which I could not make myself throw away. It is natural after a divorce, especially one like ours, yet I nurtured a small silly hope. I do not even know why, it should not matter.

Sam eagerly pulls me upstairs, never mind I'm a bit hesitant to go where the bedrooms are because I feel like I'm intruding. Charles seems a bit uneasy too and let us go alone, excuse himself saying he will start the dinner. So, it is Sam who proudly shows me his room which they recently redecorated to suit a teenage boy better. Apparently, he had a wall paper with Winnie the Pooh before and it seems like the mere thought of it makes him embarrassed. Then he leads me to the bathroom, the guest room and lastly his dad's bedroom. I can barely go inside that room, it feels so private to be where he sleeps, get dressed and undressed, but Sam will not let me miss any corner of the house which he apparently is proud of. It is a masculine room, from the colour choice to the lack of frills and decorative cushions. Clean, neat and a large bed which looks comfortable. I wonder if he ever has shared it with anyone. So, what? I have shared bed in these years and it has meant near to nothing. Still, the thought of another woman in bed with him is uneasy and I prepare to escape. Then I see it, on his bedside table. A small frame, not with a photo but with a crayon drawing. I would have guessed a child had made it, had I not known it was me when Sam and I sent him a letter when he was away on his first tour after we got married. It is heart framing one word. Ditto. Suddenly I know with certainty that the only woman who has been in this bedroom up to this day, if only in his thoughts, is me.

We return downstairs, me with my heart thumping in my chest. When I see him standing there in the kitchen, looking up at me smiling without realising what I just have seen, I know that I no longer only love my ex-husband like a dull aching pain I wish I could get rid of. I am undeniably in love with him. I am falling in love with him all over again, another time, under new circumstances. It makes me happy and it also makes me very scared.

We eat the meal he has prepared and I'm sure it is very tasty because he was always a good cook, but I cannot really taste anything due to apparent lack of saliva. I'm grateful for the glass of wine he pours me but say no to a second one, thinking it is for the better to stay sober enough to keep my tongue in check, not letting any unplanned words slip from it. Afterwards we sit in the small garden for a while.

"You don't want to reconsider? Stay the night in the guest room?" he asks. Not too insistent but with obvious hopefulness.

It is tempting, but I'm not ready to even sleep under the same roof as him yet. I am falling for him, but I do not know for sure if I want to or if I can handle it.

"Nah, I think I'll stick to the plan and take the late train home."

I can see disappointment fly over both their faces, Sam doing a worse job than his father to hide it, but then again, he has no reason to and his dad has practised hiding emotions for years.

"Okay, another time" Charles just nods.

I hope so. Another time. I want to give in to my longing, but I cannot.

Both accompany me to the station and hug me goodbye. I do not know if I'm fooling myself, but is it possible that it feels better and better to be held by Charles every time he holds me? Maybe because my urge to flee is diminishing. This time I feel his lips to my hair, kissing me on the top of my head.

"Come back to me." He says in low voice, so Sam does not hear, his dark brown eyes pleading when they look into mine.

Once upon a time, my response would have been 'Always'. With a body in uproar due to conflicting emotions, all I can say now is;

"Maybe, one day."

Then I enter the train and wave good bye. For now.